


Thirst (illustrated)

by sixxxteentons



Category: Dragon Age II
Genre: Angst, F/M, Ficlet, Post-Game(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 10:57:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 678
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8709775
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixxxteentons/pseuds/sixxxteentons
Summary: Post DA2, they’re on the run together. Hawke is bitter, Anders is weak. At least that’s how she chooses to see it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> First DA fic(let) I ever completed. It's tiny, but it's here. Also I'm very shy.

She'd known how he felt, all this time, and had thought that the kind thing to do would be to ignore it, and ignore him. Even though they worked together in everything, she'd pretended not to notice the lingering looks, the sad little sighs.   
Because she could never want him the way he wanted her. What they had in common was too barren... bitterness, loss, cynicism, lust for revenge, that was what they really shared when push came to shove, and she could work with that. But with his love? No. What could it possibly give?  
  
And in the end they'd gotten their revenge, hadn't they? She'd worked so hard, taken so much, made so many terrible compromises. Did it really matter if she took this too?   
On the days she couldn't convince herself that it had all been worth it, she blamed it all on him. The running, the hiding, the guilt. Living day to day, never staying anywhere for long enough to let anyone get thoughtful about their presence. She pretended she hadn't known his intentions in the Chantry, just as she pretended not to notice how he pined for her - still, ten years later, as obsessive and unhealthy in this as he was in everything else. On those days, she found his love and his care pathetic. He would reach out to steady her if she stumbled with hunger, as if she was too precious to step in a puddle of water or fall and get a scratch. Really? After all she'd done for this stupid cause? Yes, she could murder in cold blood and he wouldn't mention it, but dirty her hemlines? Oh she was too precious a flower for that. He'd give up his own cloak when he thought she was sleeping to make sure only he caught cold, and his selfish faux sacrifices irritated her to the point where she wanted to roll over and throttle him.   
  
And then if she reached for him instead, casually, as if she thought they could do this and say nothing of it in the morning, did it really matter? Did it matter if she pretended she didn't hear the hitching of his breath as he froze in astonishment, the desperate tremble of his thin hands as he hesitatingly let them slide up her arms, the widening of his eyes and of his pupils when she straddled him? He was hard against her in an instant and tearing at her clothes, pressing graceless kisses against her throat just like any other man would who knew his luck - did it have to be any more complicated than that? Thanks to him, here they were, foraging for food, sleeping in the woods, living like animals for all his disgusting gallantry - so what if they rutted like animals too? And no, she refused to take in him and his needs any other way than by accommodating his frantic, hard, snapping thrusts and letting his questing fingers find her breasts, her hair. She wouldn't see his tears, couldn't feel his fingertips bruising her with need, didn't hear him whispering against her collarbone that he loved her, that he was hers, heart and soul, that he'd killed for her (true), that it had all been for her (a lie).  
He should be grateful, Hawke thought and didn't believe it. After all, he only said it in a whisper, she hadn't heard it, and a man like him should count himself lucky to get even a little taste. They had so little left, was it really so wrong for her to take pleasure where she could? He wouldn't mind, she thought. He knew better than to think she'd softened to him. Surely, even he knew better. Was he really going to turn this down, if she asked him again? He'd hurt for a while, then come back for more. She knew he would, and she knew she'd offer. Not all, not enough, but a little, a little. To keep them both going.   
A drop of water was better than none at all.  
  
  
  
  
  
  



End file.
